


just

by untouchableocean



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Smoking, Teammates with Benefits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-24 08:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20355508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/untouchableocean/pseuds/untouchableocean
Summary: “Smoking is gross.” He pauses. “Let me have one.”Sergio wrinkles his nose for a second before stubbing out his own cigarette and turning to face Esteban fully.“If you take those fucking sunglasses off, then sure.”





	just

**Author's Note:**

> "WOAH OKAY THAT WAS ANGSTY" -hayley  
uploading this fully aware that nobody actually wants to read this but doing it anyway because i defy god  
title from just by radiohead

Sergio blearily blinks his eyes open and stares straight at the ceiling. The dreaded feeling of waking up and feeling warmth next to him is something he’s felt far too many times this year, and he doesn’t want to remind himself of what he’d done just a few hours before. He groans softly and rolls over to face the alarm clock; three in the morning already. Shit. He’s meant to be on a plane out of here in four hours.

He rolls out of the soft, plush sheets and grabs his discarded jeans from the floor. He’s not got the energy to grapple around in the dark for his shirt so he just grabs his jacket from the door and fumbles around for his last pack of cigarettes. He tugs his trousers on, careful not to wake the man still asleep in his bed as he steps out onto the balcony.

The lighter takes a few tries to click and when it finally does, Sergio lights his cigarette quickly and takes a fast drag before the breeze can blow it out . He cringes at the taste, but he always needs it after he’s done this, just to wash Esteban out of his mouth. The smoke curls up in thin wisps at first, but after a few puffs he’s blowing out thick plumes into the warm night air.

He looks up at the stars, partly obscured by grey clouds but mostly twinkling nonchalantly in the deep black sky. He ashes his cigarette before bringing it back to his lips for a long drag. He doesn’t like to think about what he does with Esteban. He knows there’s something perverse, something inherently _wrong _about lusting after your teammate, especially one almost seven years your junior, but he can’t bring himself to stop. They both need it as much as each other; at least, he thinks that’s true.

The first time it had happened had been weird. Not that it’s not still weird, but it had been even weirder. They had fought on track, finished their press duties early, and then continued fighting (as grown, mature adults do). There was a heated argument in Esteban’s motorhome, some pushing and shoving and a shared look of realisation followed by rutting and panting and choked off moans before they both agreed to never speak of it again.

They didn’t exactly speak of it again, but _somehow_ after the next race Esteban had shown up at Checo’s hotel room door, begging for release and being only mildly surprised when he ended up getting it in the form of a cock up his arse. He wasn’t complaining, in fact he was doing exactly the opposite of complaining, but there was something irreparable between them now, a kind of connection that neither man cared to acknowledge.

It carried on like that, no acknowledgement of the arrangement, no words spoken. Just a short text or one knocking on the other’s door, followed by sex and then the shameful gathering of clothes from the floor, the furtive walk down the corridor hoping that nobody sees them.

He barely thinks about what it’s like for Esteban. They don’t talk about it, why would they? Sex is a necessity of their lives, who they have it with is simply a matter of who’s in the right place at the right time, and they just so happened to collide on the path. Sergio knows what it’s like being in your early twenties and having nowhere to turn but dirty nightclub bathrooms, and he wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy.

He closes his eyes, trying to will a sudden wash of sordid memories out of his mind but he can’t shake them. He remembers harsh hands gripping and bruising his hips, hot mouths biting at his neck, strong fingers laced through his hair and holding his head in place. He shudders, but he tells himself it’s just the wind.

He coughs as the smoke gets caught in his lungs, expelling the hot clouds in rough patterns. He watches as the fumes slowly dissipate with the heavy lights of the city piercing through, casting odd shadows with the vapour. The cigarette’s almost done now, and he stubs it out on the balcony and lights a fresh one. He knows he shouldn’t, which might be why he’s doing it.

_Pathetic, _he thinks to himself as he takes the first sweet drag. He feels guilty for all of this, of course he does. In the moment he doesn’t think about it, just lets go. Every race weekend he presses Esteban into clean sheets and rolls off onto dirty ones, and that’s how it is. But it always leaves him feeling slightly sick.

“Checo? You still here?” Shit, Esteban’s awake. He stays quiet in the hopes that he’ll give up and go back to sleep, but to no avail. “I can smell your smoke, man.”

He steps onto the balcony in nothing but his briefs and Sergio looks away, almost embarrassed. Esteban laughs quietly and stands next to him, leaning over the balcony and fiddling with the leaves on the plant in front of him.

“Yeah, I ashed my cig in that.”

Esteban makes a mildly disgusted face at that and pulls his hand away, sniffing at his fingers before resting his folded arms on the railing. Sergio turns his head and finally notices it; he’s wearing sunglasses. At just gone three in the morning.

“Smoking is gross.” He pauses. “Let me have one.”

Sergio wrinkles his nose for a second before stubbing out his own cigarette and turning to face Esteban fully.

“If you take those fucking sunglasses off, then sure.”

Esteban groans and lifts the offending sunglasses onto the top of his head. Sergio raises his eyebrows and reaches up to pull them off completely but Esteban straightens up, leaving the sunglasses just out of Sergio’s reach. He fights back the overwhelming urge to punch Esteban in the throat (or somewhere more reachable) and leans back on the railing, watching Esteban with a mild scowl.

“If you actually want one, put the sunglasses away and put some clothes on, Jesus.”

“Nothing you haven’t seen before. And don’t call me Jesus.”

He laughs as he walks back inside and Sergio rolls his eyes as he pulls out the pack of cigarettes. Esteban just chucks the sunglasses on the desk in the room and heads back out still practically naked, and Sergio realises he’s not going to win this one.

He tries not to let his eyes wander down Esteban’s toned body as he holds out his arm for a cigarette. He’s been in the gym more often recently, and it really shows. Sergio pulls two fresh cigarettes from the box and puts one in his own mouth before beckoning Esteban down. He huffs and bends down to let Sergio place the cigarette gently between his lips.

“You have smoked before, yes?”

“Uh, yeah.” His tone wavers slightly and his eyes suddenly refuse to meet Sergio’s. “I’m French.”

Sergio hums, unconvinced, but lights the cigarette anyway. He quickly lights his own and chuckles as Esteban coughs his way through what he’s now convinced is _definitely_ his first cigarette. He’s taking it surprisingly well, although maybe he shouldn’t be surprised considering how well he takes certain other things.

He screws up his nose at that thought. The nicotine is really kicking in now, pushing the drowsiness from his mind and allowing him to focus. He’s fascinated by the way Esteban holds the filter tip in his mouth and winces as he breathes in, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he gets used to the feeling.

Esteban slides down the balcony wall to sit leaning against it and Sergio follows. They sit smoking in silence for a few minutes until Esteban’s cigarette runs down and Sergio realises he’s got no idea what do to with it. It’s kind of cute, in a strange way.

“Look, give me the butt.”

Esteban laughs much harder than a 21 year old should laugh at the word butt. He’s testing Sergio’s patience but it’s too early to scold him, so he just carefully takes the butt from Esteban’s fingers and stubs it out on the wall behind him. Esteban’s giggling fit dies down and Sergio stubs his own cigarette out, and he’s considering lighting a fourth when Esteban pipes up.

“Can I have another?”

Sergio shakes his head.

“One is already too many.” He takes a deep, almost wheezy breath. “You’re still young.”

Esteban makes a disappointed noise but doesn’t complain, just closes his eyes and leans his head on Sergio’s shoulder. Sergio jolts slightly; he’s not used to this, and he glances over to see Esteban’s figure slumped down against the wall. The position is awkward for him and Sergio shuffles slightly to allow him to straighten his back a little. Esteban sighs contentedly and shivers, moving slightly closer to Sergio’s warmth.

“Are you cold?”

Esteban grumbles and nods, and Sergio takes pity on him. He nudges him off so he can take off his jacket and wrap it around Esteban’s shoulders before pulling him closer again. His hand ends up settled on Esteban’s waist, and while it’s chilly, it’s nothing he can’t deal with. Besides, now Esteban is warming up, he can just leach warmth off of him.

He looks at Esteban through half closed eyes and watches his face. His eyelids twitch as he keeps them closed, the nicotine probably starting to take effect faster because he’s not used to it.

“Are you okay?”

Esteban opens his eyes and looks up.

“Yeah…why?”

“You don’t do this.”

“What, cuddling?”

“Yes.” Sergio moves his hand under the jacket to thumb the smooth skin of Esteban’s waist. “It’s worrying.”

Esteban laughs and Sergio can feel the vibrations.

“Well, I’m fine.”

His smile falters a little as he settles back down and Sergio hums, unconvinced by Esteban’s reassurances. He feels his back starting to ache and he jostles Esteban a little.

“Hey, my back hurts. Move over.”

“I lied, I wanted to ask you something.”

Sergio stops and nudges Esteban off his shoulder, and they both stand up, Sergio lighting another cigarette and taking a deep breath. He wouldn’t usually have this many in a night, but something tells him he’s not going to like whatever it is Esteban has to say. Esteban leans over the rail, Sergio’s jacket hanging off his slim frame and somehow being too big and too small at the same time. He sighs and Sergio kicks his ankle lightly.

“Come on, shoot.”

Esteban licks his lips and looks at the sky, tracing the constellations with his eyes.

“If I told you I loved you, what would you do?”

Sergio’s heart drops a little, and he’s glad he wasn’t taking a drag when he said that otherwise he would have choked on the smoke. He can feel his heart start to go a little faster, like he’s just got out of the car, the adrenaline pumping, putting his whole body on red alert.

“I’d probably punch you.”

They’re both silent for a while after that, both staring at the sky, avoiding each other’s faces. Sergio lets go of the railing and puts his free hand in his pocket, the denim slightly too stiff to allow him to ball it into a stressful fist. He bites his lip and glances at Esteban; he’s looking the other way entirely now, a little hunched over and probably wanting to fall over the balcony.

“Cool, I won’t say that then.”

He mumbles the words almost under his breath, and Sergio walks a little closer. Esteban finally turns to face him and Sergio holds out the pack of cigarettes, not encouraging, not urging, just offering. Esteban takes the cigarette, lets Sergio light it, coughs less this time. Sergio can taste his cigarette coming to the end so stubs it out and heads back inside and falls on the bed.

He blinks rapidly. The nicotine is really hitting now, and he knows he’ll be rolling around with his own thoughts for a while, so he stares at his own hand, twitching his fingers to remind himself he’s still working. After a while he feels Esteban drop silently in next to him and they stay silent, backs to each other, knowing this was just another conversation to remain unacknowledged, loaded words floating in the valley between them.

**Author's Note:**

> all radiohead songs are actually about formula one drivers being gay i asked thom yorke and he told me


End file.
